BEATS OF LOVE
142. Miles Further by Wrekin Havoc
WE WRITE a lot. Deconstructing the process that folk who deconstruct music to create fresher sounding music undergo, so we can all feel a little more enlightened.
Well, this week was a real toughie. It was the anniversary of the death of my kid sister's husband and to compound things, my nephew, who has been home with her since, has just started a new job, so she was all alone near the Devon coast miles away from us.
My mother's surviving partner is awaiting the memory clinic's assessment and is losing sight of us more each week and needing more of our attention. And sadly, work was especially weird. I say work because the manager that pissed me off is just programmed to operate in a hostile manner. Luckily for me, I had a couple of freshly bought records to play on repeat.
The trancey warmth of Hey Mister Mister by Kriss, a massive want after Rob J posted it, has sent me to sound heaven. Weightless arms aloft. I'd settled for a CD version but the brilliant Sound Metaphors stable have thankfully put it out on their Thank You imprint. In the same packet was this absolute gem of a tune. Rob again with his fellow West Midland cohorts, Stuart Robinson and Richard Hall. Who've produced this epic dose of musical madness which eclipses everything I've bought this year.
Fuck the process, and fuck enlightenment. It is simply emotional pop at its very best. Its memorable vocal refrain teases in, carried mesmerisingly on a floaty bed of synths, then a dramatic guitar lifts it up even higher, and then we have lift-off. It all feels way shorter than its nine minutes. My outstretched arms, in a musical hypnosis, are attempting to glide on the magnificence of it all.
I really pray these special people in my life have things that can make them feel momentarily blissful that puts aside all their heavy chocolate.
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